Wish Away
by Kittey Rin
Summary: Harry Potter could have been, arguably, the most famous wizard. It should have come as no surprise that when he had told his best friend to go away, the Powers That Be would have taken him quite literally. AU
1. Chapter I

A/N: Alright, I'm trying my hand at a Harry Potter fic. Why? Because it was in my head. That, and I just wanted to write, but I didn't have the energy to work on one of my other stories.

Anyways, here's what's up. I don't think I'm going to have any pairs, first off. Second, my chapters won't always be this short, if I decide to update again, and if this seems like a story worth continuing. Third, I reserve the right to make the Slytherin gangs slightly OOC when not in front of the school. Fourth, I plead lack of sleep and late when posting and finishing this, so if the golden trio are OOC right now, flame me and I'll fix it when I've slept.

Right, well, there's not much more I can say on this. It's just beginning, and if you want me to keep it up, review!

Now, please enjoy my story.

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Harry Potter could have been, arguably, the most famous wizard next to both Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore. Every wizard in the entire magical community knew who he was. His was a household name, much like Mr. Clean. Children of the next generation would grow up knowing the feats he accomplished, including knowing that he faced and survived the Dark Lord not once, not twice, but four times.

Nothing ever went right for the boy-who-lived. In his first year alone, he found an enemy, learned that a teacher wanted him dead, almost died by: broomstick, troll, three-headed dog, vampirific plant, living chess peices, and an evil megalomaniac with a dark wizard stuck to the back of his head.

So it should have come as no surprise that when the brunette gryffindor had told his best friend to go away, the Powers That Be would have taken him quite literally.

It all started with a bad day.

Ron had snapped at Harry, who had snapped back, who then proceeded to start a verbal sparring match with the famous student. They had completely ignored their mutual friend Hermione, who had been trying to calm them down. After a short while, they had gathered a decent sized crowd.

Ron had been raging at Harry, his burning face matching his flaming red hair. "And another thing! You're always prancing around, all, 'Oh, look at me! I'm the bloody boy-who-lived, and no matter what I say, happens. Bow down to me!'" He had thrown up his hands, effectively punctuating his little speech.

Hermione, her hair frizzing more than usual from the straining friendship between the two boys, tried to stop them again. "Boys, calm down. There's no reason to fight..."

Harry's jaw dropped in response to Ron. "You think I want to be famous? How many times do I have to tell you, I don't want any of this! I want to be normal. I don't want someone out to kill me, regardless of what you think. I'd give anything to be a normal kid, for once, instead of what I have to live with."

"Now, Harry, Ron knows..."

"Oh, really? Then why do you just keep smiling for the camera's? Why don't you try telling them to bugger off, that you'll curse them if they don't leave you alone? Hm?"

"Ron, you know Harry doesn't..."

"It's not like I want them to plaster my face over everything! I've tried to tell them that I don't want to be interviewed, I don't want to be put in the spotlight. Do you think anyone listens to me? Really? I'm just a face, just a figure head to the wizarding world. Nobody cares what I think!"

"Harry, you don't mean that..."

"Of course nobody cares what you think. Because everything you say _must_ be right, or you wouldn't have said it, you annoying, scar-faced freak!"

"Ron, you take that...!"

"So that's what you think of me? You think I'm the same as Malfoy, always prancing about, spewing the stuff that my father tells me without thinking for myself at all?"

"He doesn't..."

"Yeah, that's exactly what I think. You're a selfish prat who doesn't give a damn about anyone but yourself. Why don't you go become Malfoy's best friend? Then you and him can join the death eaters, and have a blast!"

"You don't..."

"You know, I wish I'd never become your friend, _Weasley_. If you think that way about me, I should never have let you into my compartment in first year."

Silence had greeted Harry's statement. Only the fire had made a sound, popping and crackeling merrily. Nobody had moved, and the gryffindors barely breathed for fear of turning the wrath of either Ron or Harry onto themselves.

Finally, Ron had stormed away to the dormitories. Hermione had turned to Harry, starting by saying, "Harry, you don't mean that..."

"No, Hermione, I do. I mean it." Harry had turned and exited the common room, leaving and going to the Room of Requirement to be alone with his smoldering anger.

The boy-who-lived really shouldn't have been surprised when he woke to a vision of green.

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Harry was so warm. It was nice, sleeping here, underneath the blankets. Colder than normal, yes, but warm nonetheless. It made the youth want to fall asleep once more, to just burrow into his cocoon and not leave until he felt like it. Only, he had been awaken for some reason, and he couldn't quite remember what.

"Wakey wakey," said a highly familiar voice. Harry knew that it was the one that had awoken him, and he knew he should be concerned for some reason, but his sleepy mind couldn't quite catch up with his memories yet. Besides, the warm blankets were beckoning him to fall into slumber once more.

"Don't make me curse you," the voice warned, taking a sharper tone to it. A few moments passed, and Harry had almost fallen back asleep, when someone sighed. "Have it your way, then."

There was some muttering, a small swish, and then Harry was jolted awake as buckets of freezing water was dumped on him from an unknown source. He sputtered as the cascading waterfall ceased, wiping droplets of arctic liquid from his face. His gaze was blurry, and he couldn't quite make out the figure as a towel was thrown into his face.

However, now that he was effectively awake, he recognized the voice when it spoke once more. "Good morning, Potter. Welcome to the land of living once again." The drawl was unmistakable.

"Malfoy!" Harry exclaimed with shock. "Wha- who--" He couldn't believe that Malfoy, the son of a notorious death eater, the arch-nemesis of himself and his best friend, had somehow gotten into his dormitory.

Draco, blonde haired, perfect in every way, walked over to the brunette's bedside table and picked up a pair of slim-wired, silver glasses, and thrust them into the shocked teen's hands. Harry immediately placed the glasses on, even though they weren't his, and was further surprised to see that they were his exact perscription.

His eyes were some of the worst out there, so his glasses had to be specially commisioned by a lens company in order to have everything in the sharp clarity that it was now. The fact that the oval spectacles fit him and allowed him to look at his nemisis with sharp clarity told Harry that, somehow, his old glasses had been filched from him and replaced.

Harry leaned back on his arms, wondering where his wand was, and asked the question that had been nagging him for the past two minutes or so. "How did you get in here?" he bit out.

Draco folded his arms regally. "Please, Potter. I have the password. So does every other Slytherin." His look told Harry that it was an obvious answer, and that he shouldn't have even asked the question in the first place.

Harry glared at the blonde, confusing Draco to no end. The Malfoy heir knew that Harry wasn't a morning person, but wasn't this going a bit far...? After all, he had done worse to the boy-who-wouldn't-die before. Water was nothing.

"How did you get into the Gryffindor dorms?" Harry asked venomously.

A moment passed, then Draco laughed. "Oh, that's good, Potter. I haven't heard that one." When Harry didn't move (in fact, he looked confused), the young Slytherin's laughter tapered off. To the shock of the brunette, concern flitted across Draco's face. "Did you hit your head harder than you said you did?"

Harry snorted. "I didn't hit my head. I would know if I did." He belatedly realised that the floor was getting cold, and shifted some of the blankets he was tangled in so that he sat on them.

Draco's mask didn't change. "You _must_ have taken a harder dive than we thought, if you can't remember..." The blonde shifted, running his hand through his yet-to-be-gelled hair. "You're sure you can't remember hitting your head?" he asked again.

Harry shook his head stubbornly. "I didn't hit my head, and why am I even still talking to _you_?"

Draco sighed woefully. "I knew that you were hiding something. We'll have to take you to Pomfrey, have her check you out again," he said as he moved to where Harry was sitting. "What can you remember?" he inquired.

"You know I'm a Gryffindor, and I don't know how you got the password, but I'm sure that if Ron finds you here, he'll beat you to a pulp." Harry glared as intensly as he could at Malfoy, who put his head into his hands and made a strangled sound.

"Well, that explains some. You can't remember anything, and so you're making up things to fill in the blanks." He sat on the bed next to Harry's and raised an eyebrow. "Which means, unless you're blind, you can't very easily explain away the fact that you're in the Slytherin dormotories, can you?"

With a shock, Harry realised that he wasn't in the familiar red and gold room that he slept in. This one was completely made of granite and located, obviously, in the dungeons (which explained how cold it was). Green drapes graced the beds with matching comfortors and pillows. All of the fabric was made from the same shade of green, with accenting silver thread wherever there was embroidery. Even the striped pajamas that Harry was dressed in were green and silver.

"Wha- How--"

Draco smirked half-heartedly. "There you go, being articulate," he joked. "By the way, if you need further proof that you're a perminant resident here, check your wards."

Harry's mind slowly caught up with his eyes and ears, and he realised the rationality of checking his wards. He had found various spells over the summer that he started to use on his bed, wards that would go off if someone trespassed them or tried to bypass them. He closed his eyes reluctantly, giving Malfoy one final glare, and set a thread of magic to see if the wards were broken.

Not a single one had been disturbed.

His eyes opened, regarding Malfoy like a cornered animal. There was only one explaination as to why Malfoy would be able to get around them without sending them off...

Draco answered Harry's unspoken question. "They weren't set off because they were set to include the one person you trust your life with- your best friend."

Harry's mind froze.

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End Chapter

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Any questions? Comments? Suggestions? Please review.


	2. Chapter II

A/N: Hey, I've got a second chapter to a story in which I don't even know if it will continue. And the only reason I have a second chapter is thanks to Anna, who was the only person to review.

Well, not, if that isn't a plea for reviews so that I know whether or not this story is liked, I don't know what is.

Anyways, my chapters are going to slowly increase in size until they get to be around one of my average chapters, which end up being around three thousand words or so. Anyways, I'm pretty happy with what's going on, and I would love feedback. In fact, if Anna is the only one to review again, I might just take this down and write it by hand (in which case it will never get up) and let Anna read it that way. That is, if she wants to continue reading.

But, hey, that's me. That's my threat. And I'll follow through.

Right, forgot the disclaimer last time. So here it is, quick, only once, applying to the entire story (haven't had to do one of these for a while): _I, Kittey Rin, own naught but me own plots in this faire world, most especially none of tha' coupie-written stuffs that I'm borrowin'._

Eh heh...ignore my accent. I'm tired, it's well past midnight, and I'm trying to get on a schedule for school. Yeah, right...- -'

**_Edit Note:_** In case you haven't read my profile, I'm going through a tough time in life currently and haven't been on a lot lately. That affects all of my stories, but more specifically, I'm trying to rewrite the _entire_ Harry Potter series for this story. All of it. I need to get the years right, replacing Ron with Draco, editing things so that they make sense in my reality. So, please, be patient. I'm working as fast as I can, bouncing ideas back and forth with my friend Anne, and trying to plow through every single event that happens in the six books. And then some.

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"Best friend?" Harry said in disbelief. Wasn't Ron his best friend? Harry knew that he had keyed Ron into his wards, just in case something happened to him and he needed help. He knew for a fact that he hadn't keyed Malfoy to his wards. After all, he was more likely to kill Harry than save him.

"Just in case something happened, and you needed help," Draco said, unconciously echoing Harry's words. "That's what you told me, saying that Weasley," the name had a certain bite to it, spelling out loud and clear that the two shared no love lost between them, "would just watch you die or help the killer."

Harry blinked and his head flopped back onto the bed behind him. He couldn't grasp what was happening, and it was turning him inside out. He wasn't in Gryffindor tower, he had woken up earlier than necessary, his best friend and his arch-rival had apparently reversed roles...the only thing that would make this even more unbelievable would be if Snape actually complimented Harry. And that would never happen, not until snowcones were served in Hell along with cotton candy and popcorn at a faire held in honor of the angels winning against the demons in the war of the forces.

And everyone knew _that _would never happen.

Draco shook his head at his friend's antics. Harry usually wasn't one for pranks, and the young Malfoy didn't think that this would be a joke. When Harry had flown through the goal, trying to get away from a rogue bludger...everyone had thought that he had cleared it without a scratch. But perhaps, just maybe, he had hit his head at high-speeds on the tip of the center brass ring...?

Harry saw Draco shake his head, and glared at the teen. He hadn't had any of his questions answered (not that he had asked many to begin with, but he blatantly ignored that fact) and he still didn't know what was going on. It was obvious that the blonde slytherin wasn't going to be giving any clues about his confusion either.

"Get dressed," Draco said suddenly. He was met with a glare. "Look, I'll remind you of a few important things, but then we've got classes. We can be late somewhat for our first class, but we'll be skewered alive if we're late for McGonagall." He gestured to the trunk at the end of the bed, signaling that Harry would have to get up and take care of everything himself.

"First off, in case you didn't notice, you and I are best friends. I'd be pretty surprised if you could forget that, or if you forget that Weasley hates both of us. It's a fair contest to see who can annoy him more- myself, in all my glory, or you."

Harry half-listened as he got things from the trunk. He figured if it were a dream, it wouldn't hurt to go along with it. And if it wasn't, then he would have to act as normal as possible without raising suspicion. He opened the trunk, listening with half an ear as Malfoy prattled on about how people acted around him.

His eyes widened in appreciation at the selection in front of him. Each peice of clothing, and there were many, was made from top quality materials. There were cotton shirts and pants for summer, some snippets of silk peeking through, woolen sweaters made from slimming black and other dark colors (but not the scratchy wool- this was the fine, expensive sort), more pairs of underwear and bed garments than Harry had ever seen in his life, including all the hand-me-downs from Dudley, and not a single garment looked as if it had been worn for more than a handful of times.

Harry ran his hands along them, just taking in the fact that he not only had clothes, but he had clothing that looked as if they _fit_. He breathed in the scent that they let off, nothing musty about it, and sighed quietly.

"If you're done worshipping your clothing chest, you can start picking out something to wear," Draco commented with dry amusement. He smirked when Harry jumped, then continued. "This you have to remember," he said as Harry picked out a pair of standard black robes, a black turtleneck sweater, and a pair of black slacks. "You're not an ogre to people, which had many of our fellow Slytherins confused, and not in a good way, when you were first sorted. Especially when you stuck up for Longbottom," the name was sneered out, "or when you announced that brainy Granger was going to be your friend."

Harry looked up, nearly getting whiplash from the speed in which his head was raised. "You mean, I'm still friends with Hermione?" he asked. He needed confirmation, his ears could be playing tricks on him...

Draco gave him an exhasperated look. "Trust me, nobody will forget the day you agreed to hang out with her. And in the library, of all places." Draco looked pained as he spoke the next part. "Of course, she does help, and she shuts up when she knows nobody is listening or cares about what she's talking about, so we tolerate her."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he had held with relief. "That's great. At least one of my friends is still my friend." He stood, then stared pointedly at the blonde sitting on the bed.

"What?" Draco said with mock surprise. "You want me to leave?" He put a hand to his heart, smirking. "You wound me, Potter." His name wasn't spat with the same malicious fury as it had been before, as Harry pleasantly realised. "But, fine, if you want to act like a child, I'll leave you to your own devices."

As he left, he paused at the door. "One more thing. You're incredibly lucky that we have never called each other by our first names. Now, don't take too long," he said in the tone that mother's use when they know their children will dawdle, but still having to try and convince them otherwise.

The door shut behind him, leaving Harry in a strange room of green grass and silver clouds. He dumped the clothing onto the bed and slowly began to strip, thinking.

Things were way too wierd to be a dream. He was more prone to nightmares anyway, and the strangest dream Harry had ever had had been about dancing fairies and a blooming onion. And really, considering the stuff he dealt with on a regular basis at school, that really wasn't wierd at all.

So he dressed, quietly thinking about the things Malfoy had told him about- what little he could remember being told, anyway. He remembered being told that only Hermione tolerated him with something akin to happiness, and that most of the other Gryffindor's hated him. Lavandar, Parvati, Seamus, Dean, Ron...

A stab of pain swept through Harry. He regretted the things he had said to him now, in this wierd reality, and wished he could take them back. It seemed like such a foolish thing to fight over, now that he reflected back on it...

"I'm coming in whether you're dressed or not," Draco announced from behind the door, just before it opened. With a start, Harry realised he had been left alone for a good five minutes, in which time he had unconciously traded pinstripe pajamas for an outfit in black.

Draco leaned against the threshold. "Immaculate, as always," he stated grandly, lifting one hand to brush away imagionary dust from his own gray sweater. His pants, like Harry's were black, but of a different cut. Harry had no idea how he knew that, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it was true.

Harry stood there dumbly until Draco took pity in him and decided to point out where his things were. "Your bag is beside your bed, and your wand is under your pillow," he said. As Harry reached for them, Draco filled him in further on what was happening inside Hogwarts. "We missed breakfast, but I'm sure we can scare a house elf or two into making something for us before going to class."

Harry, wand in bag, bag in hand, walked hesitantly over to Draco. "Lead the way," he said, feeling as if he had just signed a death warrant.

Draco smirked and pushed off of the doorframe, walking up a spiraling staircase and into the Slytherin common room. There he snatched a black silk bag, the kind that would be better suited to being carried in the orient sans print, and led the way up the stairs, through the wall, and navigated the confusing hallways.

Draco seemed to remember something else, for he exclaimed suddenly and turned to face the surprised survivor. "I almost forgot. Until you remember how to get back to the dorms, I'd follow other students. And don't get caught alone around a pack of Gryffindorks." The young teen shuddered at a memory, then started along his journey once more.

They made it to the entrance hall faster than Harry had thought they would be, and the young heir turned down the hallway towards the kitchens. It seemed as if he not only knew where the kitchens were, but also how to get into them as he tickled the pear in the painting of a bowl of fruit.

He walked in there, an air of superiority wrapped around him like a cloak, and stood in the middle of a frenzy of bowing elves. "I want some breakfast," he demanded. When Harry looked, he saw that Malfoy's face was as relaxed as it had been in the dormotories and common room.

The elves quickly complied, bringing a small table for two (in which Draco sat down immediately and Harry followed slowly, hesitating until Draco asked if he was imitating a statue) and a meal of flapjacks, freshly cut fruit, juice and milk, syrup, bisquits, and every other sort of food that one could wish on the morning menu. Except for meat.

Harry was surprised, since he knew that he wasn't a vegetarian. "Why is there any bacon or sausage?" he asked, ignoring the fact that he was dining over a casual breakfast with his enemy.

"Of course you wouldn't remember that I don't eat meat," Draco said sarcastically. "I've only ever mentioned it every time I see you flop a large hunk of steak or ham onto your plate." He rolled his eyes as he bit into a freshly buttered roll.

"Oh." There didn't seem to be anything to say to that. He had never known, never had an idea that Draco was a vegetarian. In fact, he had had him pegged as a lover of rarely cooked steak. So, instead of saying anything else, he ate in silence, enjoying the fuitation of the house elf labor, sitting and watching as they cleaned up their cooking spaces, took care to wipe down the four copies of the Hogwarts tables in the Great Hall, and accomplished any other little chores that needed doing.

A further thirty minutes later, and Draco announced they were done. "Any later," he said in explaination as they left the kitchen hallway, "and we'll be in trouble no matter what our house is."

Harry hadn't thought to ask the blonde boy what class they had first, but as they began the incredibly familiar route into the dungeons, Harry's heart sank with each step. Of _course_ it would be potions. Of course, of bloody _course _Snape would be the first professor he saw in this un-reality.

"Buck up," Draco said in an attempt to cheer up his friend, who was looking more and more as if he were approaching the hangman's noose instead of his next potions lesson. "What's there to worry about?"

Harry wanted to laugh at that statement. And he would have, had his tongue not lodged itself firmly in his throat. They approached the door, the door opened, and Harry would have frozen had Draco not pushed him through the entry and into the classroom. The entire class had turned to stare at them, stopping all work to stare (or, in the case of most Gryffindors, glare) at the newcomers.

"So sorry, Professor." Draco subtly kicked Harry's ankle, pointedly glancing at an empty seat on the border between Lion and Snake. "We got caught up, Potter got a nasty cut on his incredibly thick skull, and we had to see Madam Pomfrey to get it healed," he lied smoothly. Not that he needed a lie- it was just nice to keep in practice.

The professor, looking exactly like he did in reality, looked up from his grading. His oily hair fell into his face, landing on his overly-large nose, his eyes boring into the two students. Harry felt ready to spontaneously combust, and nearly did when the potions teacher opened his mouth in response to Draco's lie.

"Next time, try to schedule your injuries so that you can be on time, Mr. Potter." And with that, he turned back to his work, leaving Draco to drag Harry to his seat.

Yup, the faire was on.

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End Chapter

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Any questions? Comments? Suggestions? Please review.


	3. Chapter III

A/N: I honestly would have made this longer, an apology for re-writing four books meticulously in my head, but I couldn't write more without revealing a bit too much than I would like at the moment. Plus, it's past midnight, I've lost a lot of sleep, and I would like to go to bed.

However, before I go, I will direct you to my profile (which has a short, _short _explaination on why I took so long with everything) and say that soon, on Anne la Jordanie's account page, there will be a fic entitled _A Midsummer's Nightmare_, in which I will write yet another Harry Potter fic with my good friend. If you like Harry Potter, please check it out when it's up.

Final notes, if you're confused, please tell me. I don't want to confuse too much yet. Also, I need a year for these people. Any would help. I would also like to reiterate that I get some liberty when it comes to this AU fic. Harry has no excuse, but everyone else does. For the most part...a bit.

Alright, I'll shut up.

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Harry numbly sat in his seat during lunch. He still couldn't believe he had been able to get through a potions class without getting hurt- mentally, emotionally or otherwise. Snape had completely ignored him, favoring his other favorite target (Neville hadn't changed, and neither had Snape's attitude towards the Gryffindor) over the boy-who-lived. Malfoy had told him what to do, watching his progress and correcting him where he was about to make mistakes. As he thought, he toyed with his food, a basic meal of ham and potatoes, while all around him his world continued to spin out surprises.

Like the fact that he not only sat next to his nemisis, but the fact that all of the other Slytherin students in his year were carrying on calm, relatively clean and peaceful conversations around him. He leaned his chin against his hand sighing softly. The day was already taking a toll on him, and he had a feeling fate wasn't done with him yet.

Someone kicked his shin. Harry yelped, glaring to his left at where Malfoy sat. "What was that for?" he asked.

Malfoy raised an immaculately groomed eyebrow. "Tired, Potter?"

Harry turned away furiously, much to the confusion of the rest of the house. If the two powers in Slytherin were fighting, that didn't bode well for anyone else. They quietly speculated on what could have caused the rift between the two most inseperable people since the infamous Sirius Black and James Potter, and wondered if history would soon repeat itself.

Meanwhile, Draco turned to whisper furiously at Harry. "Even if you can't remember much, can you at least _pretend_ you're still Slytherin?" he demanded. When he was met with a flat stare, he stood, leaving behind his salad, and pulled the brunette with him. "I need to talk to you, Potter."

Harry reclaimed his arm from Malfoy, but did nothing to turn away and stop following him. He could hear the whispers following him, flushing with anger and frustration. He tailed the blonde boy until the doors to the Great Hall shut behind them. Then, Malfoy rounded on the unsuspecting teen. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he hissed.

"What's wrong with me?" Harry retorted. "What's wrong with everyone here!?" He screamed the last part, causing a paranoid Malfoy to slap his hand over his friend's mouth and pull him down towards the dungeons, Harry struggling the entire way.

Finally stopping, Draco rounded on the person whom he trusted most. "I reiterate- what's going on in your head?" He flicked Harry's forehead, a habit he had gotten when Harry had been an idiot one too many times. Harry backed up, rubbing his forehead, his glare affixed to a mask of anger.

"Everything is wrong here!" he screamed, fisting his hands at his side. "I'm friends with my enemy, enemies with my friend, in the wrong house, and to top it off..." Harry searched for something else to say as his mind tried to put words into a coherent sentence, "Snape was nice to me!"

Draco kept up a blank face for all of two seconds before he burst out laughing. He clutched his sides, leaning over, his face completely open for the first time that Harry had ever seen. It shocked the green-eyed youth into an open-mouthed stare, his anger momentarily forgotten.

Draco knew that Harry wouldn't like his laughing at him, so he tried to curb his amusement, straightening and apologizing. "Sorry, you just looked so...childish." He had a much more free look on his face now, a happy medium between a smirk and an outright grin. "I couldn't help myself."

Shaking off his surprise, his hands fisting once more. "I'm trying to be serious, and you're making fun of me." Harry pivoted on his foot, going who knew where (since he couldn't go to Gryffindor tower and wouldn't go to Sytherin) and not looking back.

Draco moved up beside him, grasping one of his shoulders. Harry tried, unsuccessfully, to shake him off. "Let go," he ordered.

Malfoy glanced at him from the corner of an eye. "No. We're skipping the rest of the day to go see Pomfrey, whether you like it or not." When Harry made a move to leave, the older student tightened his grip. "Don't make me hex you in order to do so. I know more curses than you ever will."

"Because you're a junior death eater," Harry growled under his breath. He thought he felt Draco misstep, but he was too full of his own fury to notice any change in the Slytherin's movements. He didn't realize that Draco had slipped on a very familiar, very fake mask of indifference as soon as the commen was out of his mouth.

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It didn't take them long to reach the infirmary- Madam Pomfrey, ever present despite any hour, looked up from straightening a bed to see a poor sight. It had been a while since Harry and Draco had gotten into a fight (the last having been way back in first year), she had nearly forgotten that the two were human and, therefore, prone to disagreements. It had been ages since she had seen that hurt look hidden deep within Draco's eyes, or the absolute fury Harry possessed openly in his gaze, or the pure tension between the two friends. 

It worried her immensly. The first words from the blonde didn't help, either.

"Potter's gone and lost his memory, somehow replacing them with a fantasy," he stated in what, to anyone else, was a conversational tone. Madam Pomfrey heard how flat and lifeless it was.

She bustled over to the duo, immediately checking Harry's vitals. He could scowl all he wanted to, even insist with as much ferver as he could possibly use, but she would never skip over the basics. Sometimes, rarely, entire lives were saved from going back to basics. It was a fact that wouldn't change any time soon.

"Mr. Potter, what is it you remember, exactly?" she inquired in a brisk manner. No matter what their problems with their friendship, even if it were between her two favorite patients (not to mention most frequent ones as well), she was only business when the time called for it. This time was no exception.

"First off, I'm in Grffyndor." The stern nurse held up a hand when Draco opened his mouth to speak, forestalling any input on his part. "Second, Malfoy hates me. Third, Ron is my best friend. Fourth, Snape despises me. And fifth, everything else," he held out his arms to either side to encompass the entire room in the spance of his arms, "is turned around. Nothing is as it should be." His hands fell to his side.

A bell rang dully, signifying the end to lunch and beginning of the next class period. Madam Pomfrey turned to Draco. "I do believe you have double defense right now, Mr. Malfoy." Her worry only increased when, instead of protesting about his best friend being left behind, Draco merely nodded and walked off without a word raised against her. But, once more, a patient was in front of her. She switched to her nurse-self, the one most students saw, and fixed Harry with a stare that bore through him.

"Alright, Mr. Potter. You hit your head harder than we thought, and either you managed to switch minds with an alternate reality version of yourself, or you forgot everything and switched all of reality onto its head. Either way, you're in a heap of trouble." She put her hands on her hips, wondering what he would say. He had never been predictable to begin with, and not knowing what kind of Harry she was dealing with didn't help.

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. Alternate realities? Hitting his head? He wondered where she got that sort of thought process. "All I know is what I remember. Nothing more."

Madam Pomfrey nodded, spotting a new student approaching the wing. "Well, you try to recall something, and when I get back, you tell me it exactly as you remember things." She pushed past him in a whirl of nursing skirts, the next patient taking the whole of her attention.

Harry watched her leave for a moment before he turned his mind to the problem at hand. closing his eyes after moving out of the way, Harry tried to recall his first meeting with Ron. It was something he would never forget.

* * *

_He sat on the train, staring out the window. He was incredibly bored and just a bit intimidated from everything that was happening. He still hadn't _quite_ grasped the fact that he was a wizard, but he was getting there. It was only a matter of time._

_The door to the train compartment opened, and there was Ron. He was a lot younger than his present self, and for a moment, the two blended together. But then it was back to being regular old Ron, freckles and all, asking to take a seat across from his future best friend. He smiled, offering it warmly._

_Ron sat across from him, staring at him while trying to be sneaky about it. He was such a transparent soul, something that was infuriating at times. He finally found the courage to ask about his scar ("Do you really have-?"). Just as he was about to lift his bangs to show him, though..._

_One minute, Ron was sitting across from him. The next, it was a certain blonde haired prat, and they were both laughing._

_The memory went off from there, taking an unknowing spectator on the most confusing and frightening journey of his life. He tried to recall Ron from before, walking in on the compartment, but this time it was Draco._

_The young Malfoy immediately recalled aloud having met him at Madam Malkin's, where they had apparently struck up a conversation. He exclaimed his own recollection of that day, adding a thank you for showing him around Diagon Alley. He then watched as his younger self offered the younger Malfoy a seat across from him._

_The young heir never once asked to see his scar, nor tried to stare without staring, never even glanced up to see if the lightening bolt was right where rumor had it placed. He talked animatedly about the wizarding world, revealing things the starving child yearned to know about. He didn't once put him down, insult him without taking everything he dished out, or acting any other way than open and friendly._

_It was a sober yet terrifying experience, watching him go through the motions he knew had never happened, but couldn't help but remember no matter how hard he tried against them. He watched as Pansy Parkinson, not Hermione, wandered into their compartment looking for Trevor (although she wanted to kill the thing, not help Neville find the missing toad), and as he and Draco crossed the lake with Crabbe and Goyle in tow, as he met Ron._

_It hurt. Ron saw him with Draco, automatically assumed the worst, and as he ganged up with the other future Gryffindor's, he proceeded to give Harry the most painful tongue-lashing he had ever recieved. Draco stuck up for him, dealing out insults and remarks that pushed Ron's limits until McGonnagal organized them for the sorting._

_He watched until finally, in the moment of truth, he heard the sorting hat in his past-self's mind._

Well, aren't you a confusing one_, it said._

_He wondered aloud about the hat's abilities to communicate telepathically._

Not quite_, it responded, _but close enough. But, what's this? You've a cunning mind, very close to a Ravenclaw trait, but not directed to furthering knowledge. Hm, and what's this? Ambition as well. My my, a Gryffindor trait as well as a Slytherin one. You also have a lot of bravery for one so driven to the Slytherin's traits.

_Slytherin, his other self wondered. That was the house Draco was in. The house his friend was sorted to._

Slytherin, then? That house will make you a great wizard,_ the hat told him, just before calling out his new house._

_Then he walked over and sat next to an enthusiastically clapping Draco, and he couldn't take any more._

_There had been nothing warning him that it was Voldemort's house he was going to. Nothing about Hagrid, or Dumbledore, or Scabbers, Hermione, Neville, Ron..._

Harry forced himself back to reality.

* * *

End Chapter

* * *

Any questions? Comments? Suggestions? Rantings on my lateness and shortness of the chapter? 


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